Coming To America
by uninvitedCat
Summary: Alastor Moody has another encounter with Gil Grissom.


Gil Grissom placed his glasses on the table in front of him and rubbed his face with both hands. Sighing, he put his glasses back on and returned to the report that he was writing.  
  
His last case had been a nightmare. In a fit of drunken rage, an abusive father had killed his daughter and wife and then staged the crime-scene to look like a burglary that had gone wrong. His team had spent a long time carrying out painstaking work and studying the evidence to discover the true events. Even now, Brass was completing the confession and getting the man to sign it, leaving Gil to start writing up the final report.  
  
Despite this victory, Grissom's satisfaction at catching the culprit was as dust in his mouth when he thought about how the victims had been treated. It was cases like this that made him almost hate being in charge of the USA's number two criminalistics lab (albeit, in charge of the graveyard shift).  
  
Some time later and just as he was finishing his report, a knock on his open door alerted Grissom that he had company. He looked up into the tired face of Brass.  
  
"Scumbag's going down," said Brass, by way of opening the conversation. Grissom grunted in reply and before Brass could comment further, his cell- phone rang. Flipping it open, he answered it. "Brass here." Grissom returned to his report, paying little attention to the half of the conversation that he could hear. "Yeah ... Uh-huh ... OK, I'll bring Grissom with me." Brass closed his cell-phone with a practiced flip and looked up to meet Grissom's steady blue gaze. "We got a new one. Suspected homicide. Multiple."

The house was large and even from the outside it gave an impression of spaciousness. Set behind well-tended hedges, its beautifully manicured lawn had been ruined by two ambulances and a patrol car whose tyres had scoured the grass whilst a second patrol car had parked at the entrance to the driveway. Brass expertly steered the SUV around the parked vehicles and up towards the house. Parking on one side of the driveway, he jumped out and started towards a uniformed officer as Grissom paused to grab his scene kit before following the older man. Gil caught up with Jim just as the junior police officer was beginning his report.  
  
"Some neighbours called in to complain about a noisy party. That was about 11pm. At around 2am there was another batch of calls, this time complaining of a fight - breaking glass, shouting and so on. I was the nearest officer and when I got here the house was quiet with no visible lights. Front door was open when I got here." The younger officer swallowed hard and Grissom noted that sweat was beading on his forehead. The CSI turned his eyes to the house, and began examining the front even as he continued listening to the report. "I found an adult male, an adult female and two minors on the floor in the lounge. No signs of life. Another adult male was unconscious on the couch. I called in for backup and an ambulance."  
  
Glancing at the ambulances, Grissom could see a bulky figure sitting in the back of one of them. Although shadows hid the face,Grissom felt a prickle run down the back of his neck.  
  
The patrolman was still talking. "Before the ambulances got here, the guy on the couch regained consciousness, took one look at the room and then zipped shut. Wouldn't identify himself or explain how he got there. Any time we ask him anything, he just asks for CSI Grissom."  
  
Refocussing his attention on the seated figure in the ambulance, Grissom cautiously moved towards him. The officer's voice faded from his ears as he directed every ounce of his attention on the silhouette inside the medical vehicle. That prickle of recognition ran down his spine again and once he had moved around enough to see the profile, he groaned out loud in realisation even as Brass's voice came from behind his right shoulder.  
  
"So, I guess you know our mysterious party-goer then!"  
  
As usual, Grissom was torn between amusement and annoyance at Brass's flippant act. Biting back his reaction, Grissom stepped forward into the sphere of light generated from the ambulance's interior.  
  
A dry voice drifted out as soon as the occupant saw him. "Hello, laddie! How're yer knackers?"  
  
Brass snorted with surprise, but quickly suppressed it whilst Grissom managed to keep his expression blank, instead offering a polite greeting. "Alastor Moody. Welcome to Las Vegas. Should I ask if your papers are in order?"  
  
The old man sighed, and scrubbed at his scarred face with his equally- scarred hands - he had to use both as he was handcuffed. Grissom noted that Alastor now appeared to have two normal eyes and wondered briefly what had happened to the wildly independant blue one that he had on their previous meeting, before guessing it was charmed to look like the other eye.  
  
"Mr Grissom! I'd say I'm glad to see you, but I'm in a spot of bother. Can you possibly help an old man?"  
  
Grissom decided that it was best to start with an introduction. "Captain Jim Brass, meet Alastor Moody. Mr Moody, you're in a spot of bother because you've been discovered unconscious at the scene of a crime. Four people are dead and you haven't exactly co-operated with the police." Grissom left the implication hanging.  
  
"So I'm a suspect?" Moody was definitely not a fool. "Well, I'll talk to you - but I'm not keen on talking in front of everyone." He shot Grissom a significant look.  
  
Considering Moody's hint, Grissom suggested. "How about we walk?"  
  
Moody's bulky frame shook with laughter as he replied. "I'd love to take a walk with you, laddie, just as soon as someone finds my damned leg! The bastards took it off me after they knocked me out!" He shifted in the ambulance to allow Grissom to see that he was indeed missing his distinctive, carved and claw-footed peg.  
  
Before Grissom could come up with a solution to this unusual problem, Sara and Warrick arrived at the scene. Grateful for the extra thinking time, he directed them to begin examining the grounds. "But don't enter the house until I've had a chance to look around," he cautioned.  
  
Turning back to the British wizard, Gil heard Brass in the background asking the paramedic for an update on Moody's health. Taking advantage of Brass's distraction, Gil asked a pointed question. "Until we can talk properly, what can you tell me now that would of use to my job?"  
  
The scarred man shifted on the ambulance bed as he thought quickly. "You remember the little problem you helped with when you were in Britain?" Grissom nodded in confirmation. "It's spreading. One of the DE's had the bright idea of getting their American cousins to finance the good fight back in Blighty. I've followed two of them who are here on a fundraiser and I'm supposed to be stopping them from doing what they enjoy the most." Moody's slash of a mouth twisted as he contemplated his next words. "I heard about this party and came to keep an eye on it but they found me snooping around in the back garden. I think they hit me with ... something. When I woke up, that family was dead on the floor and my leg was missing. Good luck finding anything useful." The final sentences were loaded with bitterness as the older wizard slumped back against the side of the vehicle, for once looking every second of his age.  
  
Grissom quietly thanked him and was joined by Brass as he walked up to the open front door of the house.  
  
"So who is he?" Brass probed.  
  
"He's a sort of policeman that I met in England. He asked me for my professional opinion on a crime scene." Grissom aimed his torch at the door-jamb and looked carefully at it before moving on through into the hallway.  
  
Brass was not yet prepared to drop the subject. "What scene? What happened?"  
  
Grissom stopped and turned to face his former boss, sighing quietly. "Nothing happened. Someone got in and cleaned up the scene before I got there. A 'miscommunication' according to the man in charge - over-eager employees misinterpreting his instructions. I did what I could, which was very little, and left them with a report." Brass cocked one eyebrow at the scientist, but held his silence.

  
  
After several hours, the three CSIs had achieved a great deal. Despite the darkness of the night, Warwick and Sara had found, recorded and catalogued a great deal of evidence from the garden and Warwick had even found Alastor's peg leg, bagging and tagging it before sending it back to the lab for analysis. Joining Grissom in processing the interior of the house, they relentlessly collected photographs and samples before the bodies were removed. In the meantime, Brass took the still one-legged Moody down to the police station to await Grissom's return.  
  
Eventually, Grissom called a halt to their work. It was as he was taking one final look at the lounge that he realised what was bothering him so much about this scene. He never missed an opportunity to test his team, and this was no exception. "Sara, Warwick, what's missing?"  
  
Warwick sighed and ran a tired hand over his hair before responding. "A map leading us to the perp?"  
  
Sara gave a dismissive snort before straightening up to take her own look around the room. Warwick's grin faded as he too tried to turn a fresh eye to the scene. However, it had been a long shift for both of them and they both admitted defeat.  
  
"There's no blood," Grissom pointed out gently. Sara's eyes widened as she scanned the room again, and Warwick whistled a gentle hiss in surprise. "There's broken glass, four bodies but no blood."

  
  
Some time later, Grissom poured himself a coffee in the kitchen in an effort to stem his tiredness. It looked as though Moody was right in his assessment that their chances of discovering any evidence were slim to none. Doctor Robbins had already started his autopsy on the dead family and with David assisting him, they had already made good progress. The bad news was that, half-way through there was still no obvious cause of death.  
  
As Grissom's mind worked on the problem, his feet took him to Interview Room Three. Opening the door he was surprised to find that Alastor Moody was alone in the room, chewing a toothpick. Nearly everything about Moody proclaimed him to be relaxed. His chair was tilted on to its rear legs, and was gently bobbing under his shifting weight. His eyes were shut and his hands were comfortably linked over his stomach. Only the relentless shifting of his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other gave any hint of inner agitation.  
  
Grissom sat at the table across from Moody and was rewarded with a level stare from the other wizard. Turning in his seat so that anyone viewing the scene through the mirrored window would see only his back, Gil held up a finger to silence Moody, and subtly removed his wand from the holster strapped to his arm. Murmuring quietly, he quickly cast a spell and replaced his wand. "Anyone looking through that window will just see us waiting for Captain Brass," he explained.  
  
"And are we?" Moody's eyes were shut again and he appeared to be concentrating on the bobbing of his chair.  
  
"Yes. He'll be here shortly. But I wanted to tell you I need to examine your wand." The chair legs were lowered back to the floor ground, but otherwise Moody did not react.  
  
"You do still have it?" Gil pressed. "Or did they take that from you too?"  
  
"They took a wand from me," Moody admitted cautiously.  
  
"A wand?" Gil asked sharply.  
  
"A fake wand."  
  
"Why would you have a 'fake' wand?"  
  
"So people who take it will think that they've disarmed me, laddie. Constant vigilence!" Moody almost sounded happy for a moment, before an unvoiced thought clouded his face again.  
  
"Has that happened often?" Gil was curious.  
  
"Laddie, once is too often." Moody's piercing gaze was fixed on Grissom's face for a long moment before he continued. "Do you really believe that I have anything to do with those deaths?"  
  
"Mr Moody, I believe the evidence."  
  
Gil was saved from any more probing questions by Brass entering the room and taking the seat opposite Moody. "So, Mr Alastor Moody. Got any ID?" Jim's voice was not exactly friendly as he began questioning their only potential witness.  
  
"Yes but it's in my leg so unless you've found that, then the answer's no." Moody replied with a half-shrug.  
  
Brass cast an eye at Grissom. The CSI nodded slightly, before taking control of the interview. "We did find your leg, Mr Moody, but it's currently being examined as evidence and can't be returned until my team have finished."  
  
Moody just shrugged again, a resigned look on his face.  
  
"In the meantime," Brass said, drawing the man's attention back to him. "Perhaps you could explain again just why you are here and how you ended up in that house."  
  
"What's Mr Grissom told you about me?" Moody enquired.  
  
"Let's just assume that I know nothing," Brass countered almost lightly.  
  
Moody studied Brass intently before rubbing his face with both hands and sighing deeply. "Very well." One gnarled hand plucked the toothpick from his mouth and he began to drum it on the table-top. "I officially retired from law enforcement a couple of years ago, but I still like to keep my ear to the ground and take on the occasional job. It supplements my pension, you see? Anyway, about two weeks ago one of my old contacts told me that a couple of illegal projects in Britain are going to be funded by big money raised over here. Then I hear the same thing from another source. Now, I don't have to tell a copper like you that two independent sources telling you the same thing is something you need to pay attention to. So I got in touch with my old boss to put him on the trail." Moody paused for a long moment before continuing. "And to my surprise, he asked me to nose around." Moody's scarred and battered lips twisted into a swiftly-gone grimace. "I should be at home keeping bees! Not running around chasing he- said-she-said!"  
  
There was a longer pause and Moody's fingers drummed the toothpick with greater speed as he worked to keep his emotions under control. "All my sources kept pointing me back towards this one bloke who I've had dealings with in the past. He's got a reputation for being a bit of a loner but by the time I caught up with him, he was seeing another man." Brass tried to smother a smirk and despite not appearing to look up, Moody must have seen it as he continued in a chiding tone. "Not like that. No, he was having meetings with a small, rat-faced man with thinning hair. They weren't obvious about it – usually they'd sit at adjacent tables in the same restaurant or they'd bump into each other on the street. All very casual, purely accidental and highly unconvincing. They never addressed each other by name so I never found out who Ratty was." Moody shrugged to show his resignation to the dead-end.  
  
"Anyway, two days ago my target travelled here to Las Vegas, so I followed. I'd thought that he'd travelled alone, so you can imagine my surprise when yesterday afternoon he went up to that house and the door was opened by," Moody paused to heighten the suspense. With a twitch of his eyebrow, Grissom hazarded a guess.  
  
"Ratty?"  
  
Moody shot the CSI a disgruntled look before continuing. "Yes, Rat-face. They disappeared inside for the rest of the day, and I stayed outside on watch, trying to work out what to do. It wasn't too long before other people started arriving and I figured out that they were having some kind of party. That's what gave me the idea of trying to arrange things so that a neighbour would complain." Moody shrugged. "Not the best plan I've ever had, since all the noise I was making in the back garden was probably what alerted them to my presence. I was trying to figure out my next move when someone tried to hit me from behind. I dodged the blow but tripped over my own foot and didn't manage to dodge the next shot. When I woke up I was on that couch minus a leg and surrounded by four corpses." Moody's voice became bitter. "So much for my famed constant vigilance! My first challenge in years and I manage to get myself knocked out." Brass and Grissom listened in fascination as the man's voice dropped in volume so that he seemed to be talking to himself. "I'm too old for this. Being shut in my own trunk for nine months was bad enough but now - ha! Now I can't even protect myself, let alone anyone else. Dumbledore should never have trusted me with this, I've let him down again. I'm just too old."  
  
Moody's mumbling was cut short by a knock at the door. Grissom got up and answered it, to find a latex-gloved Warwick holding the wizard's distinctive peg leg. Closing the door quietly behind him, Grissom moved into the corridor to allow Warwick to update him. "We've gone over this as carefully as we can and collected and analysed a few trace elements. There's nothing left to test for, so we were gonna give it back to him." Warwick's face wrinkled slightly as he shrugged one shoulder. "It just seems a little cruel to withold it from him."  
  
Gil nodded his consent and pulled a glove on to one hand before taking the hold of the peg. Positioning it so that the overhead flourescant lights shone directly onto the surface, he examined it carefully for some hint of where and how Moody's ID papers were concealed. Knowing the old man to be truly crafty, Grissom was keen to see if he could anticipate their hiding place but he couldn't see any detectable joins or hidden compartments and resigned himself to being unable to solve this mystery for the time being.  
  
"What else?" Grissom asked.  
  
"We're working through identifying the prints found at the scene. I still need to print the Brit but otherwise there's not much else to report. There were some traces of dirt on the peg, which we analysed and compared to samples taken from the back garden. Composition and size of particles, and the pH of the sample were consistent." Warwick gave a half-hearted shrug and was clearly cheered when his boss smiled.  
  
"Sometimes dirt is just dirt." Grissom beckoned the younger CSI to follow him as he returned to the interview room. Moody was occupied with watching his hands clench and unclench on the table-top and was once more chewing on his toothpick. An expression of unmistakable glee passed across his face when he looked up and saw his peg-leg in Grissom's hands.  
  
Brass cut short Moody's elation. "Mr Moody, what are DE's?"  
  
"Huh?" Moody's eyes had not left his peg.  
  
"Earlier, when you were in the ambulence, you commented that at least two DE's were over here to raise funds. What is a DE?"  
  
"Oh that. Office slang. It stands for 'dubious entity'. Sorry, old habits die hard." Moody replied absently. Grissom was impressed; Moody was one of the best liars he had seen in a long time. Deciding that he had better interrupt before Brass managed to ask a question that would throw the wizard, Grissom picked his moment.  
  
"Mr Moody, please extract your identification papers for verification." Grissom kept his voice neutral, but his eyes betrayed his anticipation. Watching closely, he saw the toothpick waggle as the man's lips moved silently. Warwick was the betting man on the team but Grissom was fairly sure he could guess the spell that had just been cast. With a small effort, Moody began to unscrew the claw-foot and eventually removed it to reveal a hollowed out niche, inside of which were some rolled up papers that he removed and passed to Brass.  
  
Casting a jaundiced eye across the papers, Brass handed them on to Grissom for closer examination as he watched Warwick move around the table to take the old man's prints.  
  
Grumbling slightly, Moody allowed Warwick to do his job before bending down to replace his leg. When he straightened up again, Brass had already disappeared through the doorway and Warwick wasn't far behind. "I'll get these over to Charlotte in the Print Lab and run them against what we've got," Warwick commented as he left. Grissom nodded absently, his attention focused on the British wizard.  
  
"Would you like to take that walk now?" Grissom offered.  
  
"Certainly, now that I can!" Moody nodded his enthusiasm. He followed Grissom out of the interview room and through the maze of corridors and rooms that made up the CSI labs. Eventually, Grissom led them into the weak morning sunshine and towards some seats near a low wall.  
  
Grissom spoke first. "Please give me your wand."  
  
"My wand?" Moody was slightly surprised and defensive.  
  
"Yes, your wand. Your real wand. You've already said that they didn't take it off you and I need to examine it, preferably without anyone from my team being present. Now seems to be the best time"  
  
Moody hissed through his teeth. He clearly disliked the idea but if he wanted Grissom's assistance in getting out of this mess then it was obvious that he would have to co-operate. "It won't take more than a minute or so," Grissom sought to reassure him.  
  
Scowling, Moody removed the toothpick from his mouth. "This is a secret, laddie, so I'll not be having this spread around!" Placing the toothpick on the palm of his left hand, he held his right hand palm-down over it. He muttered a few words, and suddenly the Auror was holding a full-sized wand. Grissom raised one eyebrow as he put on a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and took the wand tenderly as Moody passed it over. Holding it to the light, Grissom shone his small torch all over it before pulling some powder from a small bag in his pocket and sprinkling it over the length .  
  
Grissom then waved the wand in a fashion he had learned many years ago, when he first started working with the police. He deliberately kept his voice low as he cast the spell so as to prevent the other wizard from hearing the words.  
  
A silvery substance emerged from the end of Moody's wand and spread out like water. Slowly, it grew into a representation of the garden that Moody had been in when he was attacked. Grissom noticed that the aged Auror was leaning forward, apparently fascinated to see the results of this secret spell. The two men watched as a ghostly figure hid behind a tree, and Grissom smiled as the man next to him suddenly twitched when he realized that he was looking at himself. They both winced as they noticed that other figures were making the most of the surrounding shrubbery to conceal their approach - helped by Moody's own preoccupation with the house.  
  
The first hex cast by one of the insubstantial figures narrowly missed the recreation of Alastor's head as he turned to check his surroundings, warned by some inner instinct. Reacting instantly, Alastor spun and dived away from the tree, firing off a Stunning spell. Unfortunately the counter- attack went wide of its mark, his aim deflected as another attacker hit him with a Stunning spell of their own. The real Moody winced again as he saw the attacker closest to him run up with a tree-branch and club his silvery double over the head. Involuntarily, Moody rubbed the lump on his skull as the figures dissolved back into a tide of diaphanous liquid that flowed back into his wand.  
  
"Did the medics check that lump on your head?" Grissom asked, breaking into any train of thought.  
  
"Yes, and they kindly gave me some pain-killers." Alastor raised his eyes to meet the steady gaze of the other man and waited a beat before speaking again. "They didn't help at all."  
  
Grissom's lips quirked in a quick moment of humour, but the mood died and the two men sat quietly, each lost in his own thoughts.. Eventually, Moody broke the silence. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news."  
  
"Not your fault." Grissom gently tried to absolve the other man of any blame, even though he knew it would do little good. "At least I know that they're here now. Forewarned is forearmed."  
  
"Forearmed? What've you got that's any good against a Killing Curse then? Care to share?" Moody's voice was shading towards bitter again.  
  
Gil momentarily hung his head. "No. No protection. But at least I know to look to causes other than scientific for any rash of deaths."  
  
Moody had the grace to look abashed. "I'm sorry. I feel like Typhoid Mary, spreading the Death Eater plague across the planet." He ran an old hand across his charmed eyes. "Believe it or not, I used to be good with this sort of thing. I used to stride in, take control of the situation, get the baddies and rescue the girl." He heaved a deep sigh. "Now I'm more likely to need rescuing myself."  
  
"You said you didn't want to let Dumbledore down again?" Grissom probed gently.  
  
"I was ambushed and locked into one of my own trunks for nine months. Someone impersonated me and almost led the boy that I was supposed to be protecting to his death. That the lad lived was no thanks to me." The man's tone was carefully level. "As I said, I should be at home, keeping bees." After a pause, Moody continued. "If you don't mind, I'll just stay out here for a while and enjoy the sun."  
  
"Of course." Grissom stood up and left to seek some sleep, leaving the old wizard to his painful thoughts.

  
  
"Griss!" Sara knocked on the door of her boss's office. She hated to wake him up from a clearly-needed nap, but he'd want to see the paperwork she was carrying. He sat up, quickly rubbed his face, and turned his full attention to her. "Autopsy reports from Doc Robbins." She handed the formal report over.  
  
Grissom opened it and started leafing through its pages. "Have you read it?"  
  
"Yeah, briefly."  
  
"What were your conclusions?" As ever, Grissom sounded interested.  
  
"No obvious COD, no injuries, tox screens and blood works came back clear. There's nothing to show why or how these people died." Sara's voice showed her frustration at the lack of evidence. She permitted herself a speculative comment. "It's like someone just flicked their off switch."  
  
Grissom nodded his appreciation of her concise summary, before asking a question. "How're you and Warwick doing with the fingerprints?"  
  
"No matches yet," Sara sounded slightly glum. "But we're sticking with it."  
  
"Good. Let me know if you make any progress."  
  
That evening Grissom returned to his office, ready to begin the evening shift. He'd sent Sara and Warwick home hours ago, insisting that they get some sleep before their shift that night. He'd stayed on himself for several hours, sifting through their findings, before deciding that he too needed to turn in. As he waited for Sara and Warwick to return, he flicked through the collection of detail-slips of cases already lined up for his team. Approaching his door, he could hear raised voices - Brass and Moody were evidently having some kind of argument.  
  
"Do you know what happened to those people?" Brass pushed.  
  
"I have my suspicions." Moody was still calm.  
  
"But you're not going to tell me?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I'm an old man, with old prejudices. I could be wrong in my suspicions. If I tell you what I think happened, how much time will you spend looking to prove or disprove my theory? I'd rather you looked at it with your own eyes and think for yourselves."  
  
Grissom interrupted the argument from his doorway. "An admirable sentiment. But there's one slight flaw."  
  
It was Moody who spoke first. "Oh?"  
  
"We have no evidence to look at." Grissom tried to speak lightly, but the words left a sour taste in his mouth. "We have no evidence and six new cases for tonight already. With no more leads to pursue, this case goes to the fish."  
  
"The fish?" Moody sounded startled.  
  
"The ones that got away," Brass explained while waving his hand towards the fish-shaped cork board on one wall. "This sucks, Gil." Brass was definitely sharing the sour taste.  
  
"Yes, it does." Grissom agreed before moving on to the rec room where his refreshed team were waiting for their new assignments.  
  
After passing out five of the fresh cases, Grissom headed back to his office to find Moody sitting glumly on a chair. "So, what will you do now?" Gil asked.  
  
"Hmm?" Moody rose slowly out of his thoughts. "Oh, back to Britain for me. I have to report to Dumbledore. There's no point trying to chase my target, he's obviously wise to me." The wizard stood upright, as if feeling every second of his age. Then he stuck out his hand towards Grissom. "Thanks for your help, laddie."  
  
Grissom shook the extended hand with a sense of sadness. "I wish I could have been more help."  
  
"I know the feeling!" Moody joked bleakly.  
  
"I'll see you out," Grissom offered.  
  
"Out of your building or out of your country?"  
  
"Both!"  
  
"Ah, laddie, you're just sad that you'll never have the finesse I've shown you over the last day. Jealousy is a terrible thing," Alastor joked as together they navigated their way through the corridors of the Las Vegas Crime Laboratory.  
  
"Jealous? I'm not jealous. I'm just glad I didn't have you ruining my dinner again..."  
  
Eventually they reached the exit and Grissom led them around the corner to the narrow alley where the garbage cans were kept – a location where they were sure not to be disturbed. Shaking hands once more, Grissom offered a final farewell. "Good luck beating them. I'll keep you informed of any more activity over here."  
  
"Thanks, laddie. At least that's one positive thing to tell them back home." Moody tipped an imaginary hat to the scientist and then headed behind a large garbage bin. A distinctive pop told Grissom that his visitor had departed. Taking a deep breath, he let it out in a controlled fashion before turning around and heading over to his SUV. He had a fresh crime scene to process.  
  
Unbeknownst to Grissom, he and Moody had been observed. Sara had watched two of them enter the dead end and only one return. Her curiosity aroused, she waited for Gil to leave before walking around the corner, only to find no-one there. Leaning against a wall, her dark eyes focused on Gil's SUV leaving the car park and she muttered a promise to herself. "You've got a secret Grissom. And I'm going to find out what it is."


End file.
